Just A Girl
by Alyss-Intrada
Summary: In the little town of Pauloup, the townspeople have found a peaceful balance between old and new faiths. But when one woman decides that the old ways are too dangerous to remain, the villagers rise up against her and a war between religions begins. It's up to just a girl and just a boy to help save the town from self-destruction. AU Reign
1. Of A Peddler and Pauloup

_Prologue – Of A Peddler and Pauloup_

Where a little river meets the Alps lies the little town of Pauloup. It began as a small, strategic Roman fort that was abandoned at the fall of the empire. Its walls had begun to crumble when a group of Gallic Celts began to live there, cultivating it into a farming village. When Christianity found its way into the little nooks and crannies of Europe, a church was added and many switched from their pagan roots to the new faith, but still held dear the rituals of their ancestors. It was a harmonious balance of faiths that continued, uninterrupted, into the sixteenth century.

It's a secluded little town, visited by a peddler only twice per year – once at Easter, and once at the Harvest Festival – and by the king's men once each year, in November, to collect taxes. The peddler was a charming man, who carried wares and wonders of the world beyond the crumbling fort walls in his magnificent wagon which was drawn by a very large horse.

One year, during the Easter celebrations, a woman came to the town with him. She was his wife, named Mary, and she was a beautiful woman with pure white skin and hair as black as a raven's beak. Her hands were not calloused or worn like most of the women in the village's, and she wore colourful gowns that seemed out of place amongst the simple browns and greys of the townspeople. There were rumours that circled around the village that she had been a nobleman's daughter who ran away with the peddler after they fell in love. She glowed with innocent happiness and smiled at everyone.

When they returned six months later, Mary had lost some of that innocence, and seemed a bit more weathered and world-weary. Her gowns had faded, but she never stopped smiling, and rightly so, for she was pregnant. In fact, she gave birth at the end of the Harvest Festival, delaying the peddler's journey. He didn't seem to mind much, however, when he saw his newborn daughter for the first time. They named her Mary.

With much pressure from the midwife, and many other women in town, it was decided that the two Marys should be kept in Pauloup for the winter to ensure both of their health and safety. The peddler continued on his journey of selling wares, and would return to his family when he returned at Easter.

The little baby Mary charmed everyone who saw her. She always smiled and rarely fussed, and her big blue eyes made everyone coo over her, which would only make her gurgle with laughter even more. When they departed with the peddler after the Easter festivities, the townspeople were disheartened to see her go. So popular was little Mary, that four other girls who were born that year in Pauloup were also named Mary.

The town of Pauloup watched as little Mary grew up, seeing her only twice each year, and they adored her. This was fantastic for the peddler, of course, because it meant more business for him. Mary came to look forward to visiting the small, obscure town too, loving the attention received, and the friendships she had made. Two weeks out of the entire year, she was surrounded by laughter and enjoyment. The other weeks, she was just the peddler's daughter, dressed in rags and pitied by most of the world, and scorned by the rest.

When she was ten, her mother decided that little Mary should have some education, and sold some of her jewellery for an apartment in Paris and a governess. That was a sad Easter for the town of Pauloup, and indeed the peddler too. He no longer had a family to travel with him. The road was lonely and business dragged. There was less frivolity in the Easter celebrations. The children did not dance as joyously around the Maypole.

Little Mary stayed in Paris until she was sixteen. Four days after her sixteenth birthday, her mother died from some horrible disease. Both she and her father were grief-stricken and, deciding that his daughter deserved to be the happiest girl in France, he moved her to Pauloup to live at the inn until he found a husband for her.

The day that their little princess returned to the town was one of great celebration...


	2. Of Greek and Games

_AN: Thanks to everyone who read/followed this story just from the first chapter...err, well, the prologue. It means a lot :) It's definitely a lot more than what my first story got (which was published well over 3 years ago and more or less lost to the sands of time). And because I'm feeling so good after seeing the stats this morning, here's the actual first chapter. I'm definitely open to any kinds of criticism/comments, so feel free to hit that review button! (See below for a note on historical accuracy...)_

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_Chapter 1 – Of Greek and Games_

The townspeople were completely taken with their work for the celebrations. Red and orange ribbons were tied to every tree and pole, and wreaths of leaves and late-blooming flowers decorated every door. People were dressed in their finest attire. Men were bringing bushels of apples and potatoes and corn in from the storehouse, and women were flying in their kitchens to make all sorts of wonderful pies and stews and breads, and children ran from door to door, playing with one another, or running errands for their busy parents.

And Francis hated every single one of them.

He hated their tiny minds, ignorant of the world around them. He hated how he could not talk to a single one of them about anything intellectual. He hated how consumed they became with such menial tasks. He hated how he was stuck inside, conjugating bloody Greek verbs when he would far rather be out hunting with his father and brother.

_Damn this aorist passive subjunctive participle to-_

"Francis," a tired voice admonished him, "you're getting ink blots all over your page."

"Sorry, sir."

"Sorry will not get the work done, Francis. Begin again." His teacher, an elderly man with a horribly large nose named Pierre (who had garnered his own fair share of nicknames in his time), sighed dramatically before he returned to his book of Lysias with which he had been enraptured before Francis' spotted page had distracted him.

"Yes, sir." But Francis stuck his tongue out at his teacher when he looked away. It gave him a sort of satisfaction.

"Trying to catch flies, are we?" Francis jumped in surprise as his mother entered the room.

He saw his chance to plea for his escape. "Why can I not go hunting with Papa and Sebastian? It's the perfect day..." And indeed it was. The sun was shining, and not a cloud was in the sky. It was a relief after all of the rain they had gotten in the previous week.

"Both Sebastian and your father also had to learn their Greek, as did I. And your younger siblings will too. Just because we've been forced to move to this wretched place does not mean we will be sacrificing your education. But," she added just as Francis' face fell and he felt completely defeated, "if you finish copying out that page by the end of the hour, you may join your siblings and I in the festivities. The villagers have been knocking on our door all day, inviting us to this event and that. We might as well see what all the fuss is about."

Francis seemed to contemplate this for a moment. He did not want to join in the Harvest Festival, per se. They had avoided the villagers like the plague since arriving here two years ago. But anything would be better than this blasted parsing and conjugating, and if his mother was willing to finally try out the local culture, then so was he. He hurriedly finished writing his assignment, gave the page to Pierre, and bolted from the study. He knew there were mistakes thriving on that page, and he knew he would get a lashing for it, but he couldn't care less. The little house was suffocating him, and he needed to escape.

Just as he and his family were leaving the house, the villagers began to fill the street, excitement buzzing through them. Francis thought for a moment that they were there to see his family, in all their finery and nobility. But then he noticed that the villagers hardly paid him or his family any notice. Rather their focus was on a carriage that was driving ever closer to them up the main road. It was covered with all sorts of ribbons and metal things that jingled as it drove along. He knew it was the peddler come to trade, but this close it seemed strangely familiar to Francis.

The man driving it waved as he got closer, and the excitement built in the villagers. _If you wanted to,_ Francis thought, _you could probably pluck it like the string on a lute, and you could get a note out of it._

At last, the cart pulled to the edge of the crowd, and the man pulled on the reins. "Whoa," he said to the horse. And then, "Mary, we're here!"

A door on the side of the carriage was pushed open, and as the girl inside stepped out, the villagers began to cheer and throw flowers for her.

But Francis was frozen. Not because he disapproved of what the petty villagers were doing. No, he was in shock. In that girl who stepped out, he saw that awkward little girl he had once known, who had played with him in Paris when he was smaller than his youngest brother. Who had tripped on a stone once and managed to convince everyone that he had pushed her. Who could not run very fast, but knew how to climb a tree faster than any man he had ever known.

Now, however, he realized that she held herself with so much more grace and elegance. Her hair was well-kept, unlike the untamed beast it had been only six years prior. Her skin was white and unmarked by freckles. Her dress was a rich, dark blue and cut in the latest Italian fashion. As she stepped out, he realized that she was no longer that little, awkward girl. No, she was very nearly a woman.

And she was absolutely beautiful.

"It's as if they worship her," muttered his mother, frowning as Mary went from hug to hug, her face glowing with a grin. Her father was shaking hands with people, and unloaded Mary's trunk from the wagon. Two men with bull masks suddenly appeared from behind the wagon and began to dance with Mary and a few other girls in a circle. Everyone was laughing and clapping, and someone began to play a jig on panpipes.

"Pagans," Francis' mother spat, and grabbed Margaret and Charles' hands, "we're going back to the house." The two youngest children were laughing along with the rest of the villagers and were upset to leave. "Francis, Claude, come along."

He was even more reluctant to leave than his siblings after he had seen Mary, but obeyed his mother for fear of what she would do to him if he stayed.

When they returned to the house, Francis could tell his mother was planning something. She was quiet, and the children dared not speak to her. She snapped at the servants to make dinner more quickly and disappeared into the study.

"Well," Francis said, "do you three have any lessons to work on?"

"No," Margaret piped up, "Maman said we wouldn't have to do them today because of the festivities."

"Why can we not dance like the villagers?" Charles asked, pouting.

"Because they were dancing to the music of the devil," Claude responded quickly. She had always been their mother's favourite, and as a result was incredibly pious.

Francis felt sorry for his younger siblings. "But that does not mean we cannot have our own fun. Why don't we play some hide-and-go-seek?"

Charles quickly put his finger on his nose, and Margaret soon copied. Francis caught on quickly, but Claude was far too slow to realize. "Claude is It!" Charles cried, and ran off into the house.

Claude frowned. "But I'm always first!"

"Those are the rules," Francis explained, shrugging his shoulders, "we don't make them. Come along Margaret, let's go hide!" And he took his sister's hand and began up the stairs. "And no peeking, Claude!" he called back to her.

They heard her begin counting, "One, two..."

After he had made sure Margaret was well hidden under the bed in one of the spare rooms, Francis went to look for a hiding place. He went back downstairs and crept past Claude.

"Fifty four, fifty five..."

He ran outside and into the garden behind the house. Most of the plants were dying and barren, turning golden and brown with the changing season, but he found a bush that was full enough to hide him if he knelt. And so he waited.

It was peaceful in the garden. The birds were chirping, a squirrel was chattering away, and the sun made everything seem warmer. He could feel himself nodding off. Surely Claude would take a while to find him, and he could just take a short little nap...

"I thought I saw you come back here," a voice whispered to him, and Francis yelped and jumped up.

"Mary?" he asked, although it was quite obvious that it was she who had knelt beside him.

"Aha! Found you, Francis!" Claude shouted from the back door of the house. She ran back into the house to find her other siblings. Francis cursed under his breath.

"You never were very good at these games," Mary teased as she stood up, and Francis gave her his best glare.

"I wouldn't have been caught had you not scared me like that! What are you doing here, anyways? Shouldn't you be off frolicking with the village folk or something?"

"I thought I saw you when I got out of the carriage, and I wanted to make sure," Mary explained. "You don't look exactly like you did six years ago. You've gotten...taller." she seemed to struggle with the last word, and a strange look crossed her face as she looked up at him.

"Well you're not so small yourself anymore. You'd better go before my mother sees you. She suddenly seems to think everyone in this town is a heathen, especially you."

"Ha!" Mary laughed sardonically. "Just because they're enjoying a bountiful crop and rejoicing in a beautiful day means that they're heathens?"

"You know my mother," Francis replied, "she's devout and unforgiving. Just like she will be if she sees you here."

"That's a shame, I was hoping we could catch up and talk a bit." She seemed genuinely disheartened.

"Fine. I'm going out riding tomorrow morning with my brother, Sebastian. Remember him?" She nodded. "Would you like to join us?"

She hesitated for a moment. "Alright," she finally said.

He looked at her skeptically. "You do know how to ride a horse, right?" he asked.

It was her turn to glare at him. "Of course I do!"

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, eight o'clock sharp."

"See you then!" And then she was gone, disappearing into the trees that marked the border of the property.

As Francis entered the house, he was accosted by his brother and two sisters.

"Francis, you were the first one caught! You're It now!" they sang to him.

"You'd better go hide then!" he called back to them.

"One, two..."

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_AN: Look at that! You made it to the end of the first chapter! I know, it's a bit of a long one. I promise they won't all be like that. I was just enjoying writing it so much that I didn't know where to stop!_

_Right, so about the historical accuracy. I know the TV series throws it very nearly completely out of the window. Especially with the costumes. I was cringing the entire time I watched the first episode, but then I fell in love with the characters (curse Toby's beautiful eyes!) and the story line. Mary, Queen of Scots is definitely one of my most favourite monarchs of all time, for as long as I can remember. I dressed up as Catherine de Medici for Hallowe'en when I was twelve because she was quite possibly the scariest person I could think of at the time. I was a weird child. But that's not the point. I've done a fair amount of research for this story (if Wikipedia and personal interest over a long period of time can be called research), and I'm trying to stick to the history as much as possible. But Catherine had a lot of children, so I'm afraid I've had to leave a few of them out. Who knows, maybe I'll manage to find a place for all of them at some point. And I'll probably take a few other liberties. Hopefully you can forgive me!_

_Don't forget to click that wonderful review button :)_


	3. Of Horses and Human Nature

_AN: Good morning all you lovely people! (Or good evening or afternoon, whenever you're reading this...) Thank you for all your lovely comments and compliments - I'd give you all hugs if I could. Even the smallest comments are incredibly encouraging :) And here is Chapter 3!_

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_Chapter 3 – Of Horses and Human Nature_

"What do you mean you've never ridden a horse!?" Greer exclaimed. Her sentiments were shared by the other three girls sitting at the inn's dining table with her and Mary. The entire place was filled with music and laughter as the guests ate the feast that the inn was giving.

Greer's actual name was also Mary, as was every girl at that table, but to avoid confusion they had all taken nicknames, chosen from words in a ballad that a strangely-accented troubadour had sung when they were all seven: Aylee, Greer, Kenna, and Lola. Peddler's-daughter-Mary had kept her name, since she was the eldest of the five. They had always been fast friends, and had kept up correspondence with their travelling friend when she was in Paris. It was Kenna's father who owned the inn where Mary was staying.

"I just never found the need to. We've always travelled by carriage, with Frisson the horse pulling it ahead of us. Besides, Papa is so protective of me, I doubt he'd ever let me try even if I wanted to."

"Right, let's go then," Lola said, grabbing Mary's hand and pulling her from the inn's kitchen towards the stables. "The least we can do is show you how to get onto the horse."

"It can't be _that_ difficult," Mary said, slightly embarrassed as they entered the stable. "I've seen people do it all the time."

They approached a horse that the stable boy had just finished saddling for one of the guests. "Alright then," Kenna said, "show us how it's done."

The horse suddenly seemed far too tall and intimidating to Mary. Nevertheless, she was determined to show her friends just how easy it would be. She brought a foot up to the stirrup, intending to push herself up. Her skirts, however, thought differently, and her foot ended up falling short. With a puff of straw, she fell into a haystack beside the horse

The four onlookers were giggling as they helped Mary out of the hay. She gave them a cross look before a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "It's not funny!" she tried to protest, but soon they were all holding their sides with uncontrollable laughter, while trying to pick the hay out of her hair and dress.

"This time," Lola said, "we'll help you, and I'm fairly certain it'll turn out better. Now, if he's any gentleman at all, he'll offer you his hand. Greer, if you would."

"Why do I have to be the man?" she complained.

"You're probably the strongest out of us all. Besides, it's all to help Mary, so no fretting about it."

Greer glared at Lola, but complied and held her hand out to Mary. Mary took it, then looked to her comrades for the next instructions.

"Hold your skirts away from your feet in the other hand," Aylee offered.

"You should probably wear something lighter tomorrow, so it's not as heavy to manoeuvre," Kenna added.

"But wear a heavy cloak," Lola said. "You'll get really cold, especially if you get up to anything more than a trot."

"Put your left foot into the stirrup," Greer guided, and Mary did so. "And now push up on my hand and the stirrup, and swing your right leg over."

This time Mary succeeded, and sat proudly in the saddle. The girls all applauded her.

"You're a natural!" Lola said, and they all laughed good-naturedly.

"My little girl's all grown up, eh?" a voice said from the darkening stable doors, and all of the girls quickly fell silent.

Mary almost fell out of the saddle again, causing her father to rush over to her side and put a stabling hand on her arm. "Papa! I didn't see you there. I'm sorry..."

"No worries, my dear. I'm glad to see I'm leaving you in good hands. The road is no place for a good woman, and that is what you are now. These girls will take good care of you."

"We definitely will, sir!" Greer said enthusiastically, making the old peddler laugh.

He patted his daughter's arm and smiled sadly. "I'm glad."

And with that, Mary's father left the stables and walked out of sight.

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"Their behaviour is horrendously blasphemous, Henry," an irate Catherine was saying to her husband at the dinner table at the Valois manor on the other side of town. The five children all had their heads bowed at their meals, eating as quietly as possible. The servants, too, seemed to be avoiding the dining room to save their hides from that fiery woman. "And if that unfortunately lazy Father in that pitiful chapel won't do anything about it, then I'll have to."

"He's a good man," Henry said in a calm voice, though he knew Catherine would not listen to him, "and he does good work for the townspeople."

"Do you call dancing to flighty, untempered music 'good'?" Catherine's voice was rising, and poor little Margaret looked like she was trying to hold back tears. "Do you call the worship of pagan gods 'good'? Do you call the evasion of moral practices 'good'!?" Henry was looking at his wife with pursed lips, as if he wanted to disagree, but held his tongue. "Clearly the devil has been leading these people down the wrong path for far too long. They face eternal damnation, Henry, and by the Lord's will we have been sent here to help them."

Henry muttered something that sounded like, "If His Majesty can be called God," but Catherine ignored him.

"I don't know how I could have missed it for nearly two years, but it's time for a change or two around here. I promise you that by the end of this year, the people of this town will be on the Way of Righteousness again. The older ones may be too far gone already, but the children can still learn. I will not let them be eternally damned."

She went quiet then, and seemed to be mulling something over in her mind. A brave servant took the opportunity to clear the plates and serve the second course.

The meal was completed in silence, except for Claude's timid question, "Has there been any news from Beth?" and her mother's curt "No" in response, her mind clearly on something else.

Francis and Sebastian shared a look across the table. They both felt sorry for Claude. She was missing her elder sister, Elisabeth, who had been married off the year prior to an older gentleman, to whom Papa had owed many debts, who had already had two wives before her. Surprisingly, they seemed quite happy together and all the letters that had came back since were filled with how spoiled and happy Elisabeth was.

But Claude, who had grown up under Elisabeth's wing, did not care how her sister was enjoying herself. And she did not care that her mother's attention was on her now more than ever, even though she did thrive under it. She had lost her best friend and confidant, and Francis and Sebastian both understood her pain. They, too, had shared a nursery and childhood adventures. It was not an easy thing to let go of those ties.

The dinner ended when Catherine left the table hurriedly. Henry looked alarmed, and followed her, running slightly to keep up. The children scoffed their food down quickly, relieved at the sudden lifting of pressure with their parents' departure and promise of escape.

"Who's up for some scary stories?" Sebastian asked as they went to the drawing room. He always seemed to have a story to tell, and his siblings, especially Charles and Margaret, adored him for it. "I heard the best story last night from a mysterious traveller who was passing through the town..."

"But Maman says that those stories are evil, Bash," Claude said, looking genuinely frightened at the thought.

"Ah, but this is not one of _those_ stories, dear Claudette," Sebastian explained as they settled around the fireplace. He remained standing, ominously by the fire, while they each chose chairs, or sat on the rug. "This is a story of a good, Christian man, who was just trying to do his good Christian duty. Brothers and sisters of mine, have you ever heard of Saint Lawrence?"

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_AN: Saint Lawrence, if you don't know, was a clergyman (his exact title escapes me...) who is said to have been roasted on a spit for committing some kind of blasphemous crime. It's an interesting story! Also, I myself do not know how to ride a horse, so I did my very best description of what I imagine riding a horse to be like. If there is anyone out there who does actually know and might have been offended by anything I said, feel free to correct me! _

_I promise the next chapter will be all about Mary, Francis, and Bash. Bash is still illegitimate, I swear, and it'll all be explained in the next chapter. At this point, I'm amazed that I've managed to get very nearly all the children who survived infancy into the story, except for Henry Jr., who I might just omit for the sake of not having two Henries to deal with... Anyway, that's me done drabbling on! If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to leave a comment or PM, and I'll get back to you post-haste!_

_Until next time, mes amis, adieu!_


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